


Mercy

by soncnica



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Blood Loss, Creature Jared, Dying Jensen, Gen, Hurt Jensen, Mystery, Post-Apocalypse, but no death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9319841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soncnica/pseuds/soncnica
Summary: ... mercy, mercy ...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION.

Dust.  
  
There was just so much dust. Or was it snow? Wasn't cold enough, so it must be dust. White like snow one second, dirty gray the next. Stray rays of a burning out sun stretching on the floor and walls through a window that hadn't had clean glass in years. Floorboards with holes - termites, age and weather’s playground. Wall paper torn down, scratched down with fingernails that probably bleed at some point, as there were drops of what once was red, on the edges of the brown wall paper.  
  
Blood.  
  
Yes, he could smell it.  
  
His own, not the old one. This one was fresh, started running down the middle of his chest, between his pecs, into and out of his bellybutton, two hours ago. Two hours ago, but he was still alive. Well, he hadn't really _lived_ since the world went to shit, not lived as he had before, but he was living. His heart was beating, his lungs were expanding with every breath he took, his brain was active, thinking up ways of getting food, thinking up ways of surviving - even if he sometimes wished he'd just die already, fuck please, just mercy, mercy  
  
Another drop of hot blood, right down the shallow valley in the middle of his chest, over his slowly beating heart. Tickled. He wanted to scratch it, smile, perhaps even chance it and laugh out loud…  
  
 _… mercy, mercy …_  
  
… but he couldn't lift his arms. They were done; nerves cut off from the main system, he couldn't even register pain anymore.  
  
There was just so much dust that it felt like a comfortable cushion beneath his butt, the wall behind him with a long pulled down wall paper, like a pillow for his head. So soft, so old, so rotten and decayed.  
  
Dust flying in the air, through the whole room; really seemed like snow and when had he last seen snow? Touched it? Felt it on his skin; that cool tickles on his face that soon turned into water that made his cheeks look as if he'd been crying!? How long had it been?  
Years? Decades? Long, too long.  
  
Since the world went to shit, water was a commodity highly sought after and whoever had it, whoever fount it was either the luckiest bastard alive or a bastard soon to be killed, buried and forgotten.  
  
Choose your poison.  
  
He coughed; a rush of blood out of his mouth, the warmth of it, didn’t surprise him. Just made him hope that it would all be over soon.  
  
 _… mercy, mercy …_  
  
He coughed again, wheezed in a breath and moaned when that made something move in his chest, something that was under no circumstances supposed to move.  
  
Thirst was something he was familiar with, but right now, he’d kill for water. He would kill, get his hands dirty with blood. Wouldn’t be the first time. Not in the slightest.  
  
-:-  
  
There was poison in beauty.  
  
So much poison, the second he laid eyes on him.  
  
The moment that their eyes met, he knew the man wouldn’t let go.  
  
How right he was.  
  
“Well, don’t you just look … horrible?”  
  
He’d laugh. He would, but he couldn’t get his mouth to unglue from a grimace into a smile. It would take up too much energy, energy he rather spend on sucking in air through what felt like a straw.  
  
There was so much dust in the room; the smell of his blood, the smell of rotting wood and algae that grew from the damp corners where wall met wall. But the man crouching before him? Nothing touched him. Nothing took away his beauty. Nothing corrupted his smile. The light curved around him, the dust caressed his feet, the air felt light and fresh around him.  
  
“So,” he followed the man’s arms as they stretched from his body and pointed at the room, like he was trying to show it to him, in all its gray glory, “here we are Jensen.”  
  
Here they were. After years of avoiding this, years of trying not to cross paths with the man again, here they were. He fucked up. Just like he always did. Or maybe, maybe this was supposed to be. He didn’t even know anymore. He didn’t know anything anymore. Just …  
  
 _… mercy, mercy …_  
  
There was so much poison in the man’s eyes, so much poison in all that beauty.  
  
“M…m-rcy.”  
  
The word was a barbed wire pulled out of his throat, cutting across his lips, making them bleed even more.  
  
But there was also an antidote hiding in all that beauty; in how those eyes went soft and how the mouth curved down as in sadness.  
  
“There’s no mercy in this world, Jensen.”  
  
His whole body was already sobbing; tears of blood, tears of sweat, but his eyes still formed salty, clear tears at those words. They didn’t spill down his dirty cheeks, they remained stubborn just like he had been all of his life, and they stuck to his eyelashes, tickling his eyes.  
  
Because no. No. Just no. It couldn’t be. No.  
  
“There’s just me, Jensen. Just me.”  
  
He breathed out slowly: “m..’rcy…J’red…”  
  
A tiny puff of air that hit him square on his trembling lips, wasn’t something he expected to feel good, but it did feel good. Felt like life itself wanted to crawl into him through his half open mouth. Like life didn’t care about all the blood that was trying to escape from him.  
A hand in his wet, sweat soaked hair wasn’t something he expected either. He had his eyes opened, could see everything, could still follow what was happening, was still present and coherent, but things like these caught him by surprise.  
  
Why would Jared be touching him? Made no sense … all he wanted was mercy, not all of this. Touches and air and talking.  
  
“Your blood smells so sweet,”  
  
… if he’d had any muscle control, if his body would allow him to make commands at it, he’d flinch and try to crawl away the second Jared started leaning closer to him. Closer and closer until Jared’s nose was almost touching his and he had to cross his eyes to see better …  
  
“… I bet it will taste like that forever.”  
  
The words were whispered, no need to speak them out loud, especially not since Jared was so close to him, and the dust didn’t mind whispers. The dust didn’t even raise up - like it had when he’d stumbled into this room and collapsed at the far wall – when Jared set his hands down to the dirty floor, right next to his hips. Dug those long fingers right into the remains of filth and wall paper and moths and insects that found their mercy long, long time ago.  
  
“I’ve been following you around,”  
  
… the words were a whisper against the side of his neck now, moist breath, warm breath, so much poison …  
  
“… trying to keep you alive for a few more years …”  
  
… he couldn’t breathe anymore. The late afternoon sun was dying, he could see it going darker on the floor, going from a vague yellow into a blood red dusk. The dust didn’t mind, the dust didn’t rise, the dust didn’t do anything but stayed in the same spots as it had been. Piles of it, piles upon piles. The dust had found its mercy a long time ago too.  
  
“… before I took you.”  
  
The lips on his neck were warm, wet, a tiny flicker of tongue but the teeth were sharp, piercing through his already sensitive skin, piercing right through the muscles, veins, down to the bone and probably straight through it.  
  
He couldn’t yell. Scream. No, he couldn’t do anything like that. It would’ve been rude to disturb the peace in the room, disturb the dust in its rest, especially since it had been so nice to him. It allowed him to leave footprints for Jared, footprints to follow all the way from the torn down front door, up the broken staircase and into the room he had once called _his_.  
  
A room where he had had posters on the walls, a room that had once had a desk and chair and a bed. A room that had held his toys and school projects and a room where he’d met Jared for the first time one summer a long time ago.  
  
A room where he saw just how much poison it is in beauty for the first time.  
  
And now that poison was the sweetest antidote crushing the side of his neck; inhaling, drinking, gulping, guzzling, draining. Consuming him. His body was spasming, trashing around on the floor, he could feel his limbs go every which way, but the dust never moved an inch.  
  
 _This_ was mercy. _This_ was what he’d longed for, for so many years. Ever since that summer when the man that curved the light, bend down to his scrawny little body and a mop of unruly hair and whispered in his ear - whispered so breathily that it tickled his whole body - : “One day, I’ll come to take you.”  
  
 **The End**


End file.
